Sheets of Wisdom
by grape-2010
Summary: James Potter and Sirius Black have some final words they'd like to share with Harry, and the only way they can do that is by writing him letters. Harry finds them, and is changed forevermore.


**Sheets of Wisdom**

_One Night in Mid-October 1981_

"James, what are you doing? It's late."

James Potter sat at the desk in the master bedroom, writing on a piece of parchment. At his wife's voice, hoarse with sleep, he glanced up.

She was propped up by her arms, the duvet pulled just high enough to cover her naked chest. Her hair was tangled and wild, her eyelids were heavy, and her skin was still rosy from their lovemaking. The yellow light of the lamp on the desk was the only light in the room.

James sighed. "I couldn't sleep."

He heard Lily get up off the bed and slip into a robe. She walked over to his side, knelt down, and laid her head on his arm. "So what are you doing?"

"Writing a letter to Harry."

She looked up in bafflement. "But he's only months old."

"For when he's older."

"How do you know he'll ever find it?"

"I don't."

Her eyebrows scrunched closer together. "Okay…"

With a sudden burst of energy, James shot up from the wooden chair. He prowled the room restlessly, rubbing his hands over his face.

"I have this feeling of _urgency_. Like something's going to happen and I have to get all my affairs in order as quickly as possible. Their's this itch between my shoulder blades that I can't reach to scratch."

Lily, who had learned to trust his instincts if not her own, had seated herself in the chair he'd vacated and was trying to wipe the sleep from her slow mind. She wanted to be alert to listen to her husband so that she could try to help him since he so obviously needed consolation of some sort.

"Maybe you need to find someone to scratch it for you," she suggested seriously, continuing with his metaphor.

"That's the problem. I don't know if it _can_ be scratched."

There was a pause before Lily tried to see if she could lighten the mood. "There's a particular spot _I_ need scratched," she said saucily.

He gave her a look. She rolled her eyes on a sigh and got up to walk to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his back. "I don't know what to tell you, James."

He was silent for a moment before he sighed and placed his hands atop hers. "It's okay. I'll be fine. I'm sorry for waking you."

"You didn't. My sixth sense was going crazy, telling me to wake up because my love needed me."

She dropped her arms and walked around to the front of him. "I'm going to go check on Harry. Want to come?"

* * *

"Hey, can I get another round?"

The bartender looked wary and stern. "One more, buddy, then it's water for you."

Sirius Black grimaced but nodded. The bartender took his mug and refilled it with firewhisky. When he set it back down, Sirius took the handle and raised it up. "Cheers." Then he guzzled down half the drink in one go. The bartender shook his head and went to tend to the other customers.

Sirius brooded into the amber liquid. Just hours ago he'd had an ugly break-up with his latest lover of two months. He'd decided that she was getting too possessive, and she'd begun to drop hints of commitment. And she had one hell of a huge-ass mole on her back. It'd started to get disgusting.

So when he'd told her that he didn't want her anymore, she'd been enraged. She'd screamed—his eardrums had suffered, she'd cried—he'd felt awkward and slightly guilty, she'd thrown things—they'd hit him. Then she'd sniffled and asked for one last shag—he'd shoved her out the door.

He took a sip of his whisky. Man, did he feel sorry for the next guy to handle her. Sure, she knew how to rumple the sheets, but that was about it. He wondered what she was going to do when she realized she couldn't live off her latest boy-toy any longer.

_Hypocrite, _said a tiny voice in his ear that sounded suspiciously like Lily Potter's. But it was right.

When was he going to get his act together? He'd need a job sooner or later. He couldn't keep going out and getting drunk every night. He needed to start making something of his life before it was too late. He needed to find his true love, he needed to produce some heirs, he needed to grow old and gray and be able to look back on a life that he'd made worthwhile.

That was a bit deep for comfort; he couldn't honestly say he cared tonight.

But what did he have to live for? His family were all dunderheads that couldn't care less about him. He didn't have a "special someone." He didn't have any sort of pets or responsibilities.

But he had friends. He could and should make them proud to be his friends.

And there was little Harry. God, he loved that kid. What sort of example would he be setting for his godson if he let his life go wild? He couldn't do that.

Sometimes, in his loneliest moments, he thought about Harry and James and Lily. He would be overcome with such an irrational envy that it even scared himself.

What would it be like, he wondered, to wake up and fall asleep every morning and night next to the same person? Wouldn't it get boring? _Not if it was the right person._

What if he never found "the right person"? What if he never had the chance to experience the wonder and joy of holding his own son or daughter for the first time, and know that he'd made them with the women he loved? He remembered the day Harry was born, how James had actually gotten misty.

Well, even if he never had a child of his own, he at least had a godson. He needed that godson to know a couple things…

"Hey, bartender." The man looked around at Sirius. "Got a piece of parchment and something to write with?"

_

* * *

__Several Days Later_

A dark, cloaked figure hurried across the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. It was night, just past midnight. He needed to hurry before he was missed.

He crossed to the boys' locker room and located his old Quidditch locker. The current occupant of the locker was thankfully neat and organized, so the cloaked figure just had to take out the few things that cluttered the bottom, and set them off to the side. With his wand, he cut the corner of the floor of the locker loose, then peeled it back to reveal a hallow space.

The figure took something out of an inside pocket of his cloak and placed it inside. Then he resealed the floor, taking care to leave evidence of what he'd done to anyone who was looking for it. Then he stood and walked back out into the night, not knowing that a few nights later another cloaked figure would do the same.

_

* * *

After the First Quidditch Match of the Season_  
_Harry's Seventh Year at Hogwarts_

"Nice catch, Harry!"

"Smooth flying, Harry!"

"We'll win the cup this year for sure!"

Harry Potter acknowledged his teammates' comments with a nod or smile. He set his Firebolt against the locker next to his before opening his own and taking out his clothes. He hopped on the opposite foot as he tugged on his socks, then he dragged on his pants, shirt, vest, and finished by loosely knotting his tie.

"Great game, huh, mate?" questioned Harry's best friend, Ron Weasley. "I nearly wet myself when you went into that dive." He leaned against the row of lockers, broomstick in hand, and gazed around the locker room.

"I knew Malfoy wouldn't have the guts to go so low to the ground. Hand me my shoes, will you?"

Ron pushed off the lockers and bent to obey. As he lifted the shoes, he noticed the corner of the locker's floor was detached. "Oy, mate, what's that?"

Harry looked up with curiosity. Ron was pointing inside his locker. Stepping forward to get a closer look, he noticed the loose flap for the first time. "I dunno."

He crouched down and reached in to pull on the flap. Soon a clean rip was forming around the edge of the floor. When he had most of if pulled up, he peeked under and saw two envelopes of parchment, dark yellow with age.

"What the bloody hell…" he heard Ron mutter.

Harry reached in and took the envelopes, then turned them over to see to whom they were addressed. His eyebrows shot up under his messy bangs when he read that they were both addressed to him. He recognized the handwriting of one, but not the other.

"Who're they for?" asked Ron as he crouched down behind Harry to read over his shoulder.

"Me. They're for me."

"Wonder how long they've been in there?"

"I dunno, but over a decade I'd guess, looking at how old the parchment is."

After a moment's pause, Ron pushed impatiently, "Well, aren't you going to open them?"

"Yeah. Ron…could you…" Harry didn't know why he felt it, but he felt he needed to be alone to read these.

Ron eventually took the hint and cleared out with much complaining.

Slowing walking to a bench, Harry sat down without taking his eyes off the envelopes. Taking a deep breath, he opened the seal of the one with the handwriting he was unfamiliar with.

_To my Harry,_

_I sit at my desk, your mother sleeping to the left of me, your nursery out the door and down the hall to the right of me. I couldn't sleep, and I needed to talk to you, but I couldn't wake you. So here I am, writing this letter to you in the middle of the night._

_There are so many things I want to tell you, Harry. I could tell you now, when you're just a baby, but you won't remember my words when you're older. I can't have that._

_The war with Voldemort is coming to its peak. He's gaining more power every day, and that only frightens me, for I think about what you will have to deal with when he comes for you. I pray every night, however disgraceful it is, that Neville Longbottom will be chosen instead of you. But I know, I can feel, that it is you who will be chosen. Call it gut instinct; this is the first time I've ever not wanted to follow my instincts._

_But I have confidence in you, my son. I know that when the time is right, you'll beat him. The odds aren't on your side, Harry, but you can change that. Anything is possible. You never know what—or who—could be you're saving grace._

_Now, enough of that. As I said Harry, there are some things you need to know, some things every man should know. I'm going to tell you them, because every father should give his son advice on life, and, well, on just being a man._

_Number one: Never leave the toilet seat up. Women hate that. There have been several times when Sirius, Remus, Peter, or I accidentally did that, and your mother fell in. I slept on the couch those nights._

_Number two: When a woman cooks for you, but you don't like what they've made, just nod and smile. Don't hurt their feelings. Not that your mother was a bad cook, but my mother, your grandma Dee, could burn water._

_Number three: Marry a redhead. You'll never regret it. It's tradition with Potter males, as is having your first-born son bear your first name as his middle name. Though neither tradition is official, mind you, it's just understood._

_Number four: Never be scared to stick up for what's right, even though there may be an easier way. In times like these, sticking up for what's right may cost you your life, but know that somehow, in some way, however insignificant, you changed someone's life for the better._

_Number five: Smile. You could brighten their day—someone you pass by on the street, someone you greet when you arrive at work, anyone. But especially the redhead you'll woo someday. Smiles are contagious; you never know how much power a simple smile could hold; you never know how much of the world could be changed just because you smiled at someone._

_There's so much you need to know, but some of it you'll have to learn along the way. If there's anything you ever need to remember, I hope they'll be my words._

_Know that I love you, and that your mother loves you. So much._

_Godspeed._

Harry sniffled. That was from his father. His father! He couldn't believe he'd never found these letters before.

Eager now, for he wanted to see what Sirius had written to him, he grabbed the other letter and ripped it open.

_Harry,_

_I must warn you before you read any further: I am drunk. I am not myself. This may be a little sappy, but can you blame me?_

_One thing I want you to know—to know, and never forget—is that you're part of a very loving family. Prongs—that's your dad—is so very proud of you, and Lily-Cakes (that's what I call your mum; long story, don't ask), she would give you the world if she could. Don't ever doubt that they care immensely for you._

_You are the proof of their union, after all._

_I don't know how old you'll be when you read this, or if you'll ever read this, but I hope you're not too young. I don't think this will be exactly—oh, what do the Muggles say…ah—I don't this will be exactly G-rated._

_I'm sitting here in a bar, celebrating my survival of a most perilous break up with my latest girl. She had quite the left. Anyway, I was thinking, and my thoughts bled to fact that I'm alone, however young, but alone nonetheless. I like girls, mate, no doubt about that, but I'm not a "people person." There are not many people I like to interact with civilly other than your parents, Remus, and Peter. I like to pick fights with everyone else, but that's just the result of my embarrassing childhood._

_Back to the point, Harry—I don't think I'll ever commit. I don't think I'll ever find what Prongs found in Lily, or what he found in you. I'm too much a restless spirit; I can't be tied down. I go out on whims or impulses; I hardly ever think things through. Hopefully that will change, or I'll eventually find myself in a mess I'll regret I'd made. A mess that won't be so easy to clean up._

_Now, this blockhead, Voldemort, is out to get you. Be scared—be very scared. You'll never be caught unawares that way._

_He wants to kill you, Harry. You're blocking his path. You've got something he can't have, so there's nothing he wants more. Don't let him fill your head with lies, Harry. Don't let him get to you._

_Don't depend on your magic alone to deal with Voldemort. Sure, magic is cool and enhances our abilities, but it's not everything. Our emotions are what control us, not our magic. We control our magic. Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes our emotions do. But always remember that it's what you feel or don't feel that defines you. Savvy?_

_I can't keep my eyes open much longer; the whisky is taking effect. I'll have to have the bartender find someone to help me to my flat._

_Remember this, Harry, because I'll only say it once. I love you, for all it's worth. The only people I love anymore in this world are Prongs, Lily, Remus, and you. You should feel damn honored._

_See you around, kid._

_P.S. – Never call Professor McGonagall "Minnie McGee." She doesn't like it so much. I think it's because it makes her sound young and carefree. She wouldn't allow that, now, would she?_

Harry laughed a little at the last line. No, he thought. She certainly wouldn't allow that.

Slowly, carefully, he folded the letters and slid them back into their envelopes. He dried his eyes, took a deep breath, and gathered his things. Tucking his newfound sheets of age-old wisdom into his robe's pocket, he walked out of the locker rooms, feeling more loved than he had all his life.


End file.
